


Avarice

by AGlassRoseNeverFades



Series: Our Sins [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: And Also I May Not Know What I'm Doing With These Tags Anymore, And Will's All "Um I'm Not Into Psycho Killers So Both of You Need to Back Off", But Matthew and Hannibal Are Like "You Say That Now Sweetheart But I'll Change Your Mind", Creepy Stares, Gen, Hawks and Wendigos Oh My, M/M, Matthew and Hannibal Both Want Will Pretty Bad, Nightmares, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, creepy love triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGlassRoseNeverFades/pseuds/AGlassRoseNeverFades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will gets a new neighbor across the hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avarice

Will is already starting to regret his easy acceptance of Chilton’s pronouncement that he would be getting “another new neighbor.”

Not that it would have done much good had he complained. Chilton does what he wants, and for some reason he seems to have it in his head that the way through Will’s mental armor is to annoy the piss out of him at every given opportunity. Even so, Will thinks maybe he should have said something, if only so it could have gone on the record that he’d called the man out on his incredibly stupid idea should something bad come of it later.

As it was, he’d hardly even been listening as Chilton informed him of his decision to move Brown out of the medical ward into the cell across from his own. He’s sure it bothers Chilton to have been denied a chance to see a real reaction from Will, and that almost makes his distraction while the man was talking seem worth it.

Will hasn’t been able to focus much on what anyone says or anything that’s been happening around him since his most recent—and dare he hope, possibly _final_ —visit from Lecter. He’s still trying to decipher exactly what happened during that visit, decoding and reinterpreting every gesture, every not-smile, every word left unsaid and lingering underneath the words that were spoken out loud.

Knowing beforehand that Hannibal had survived, and that he would doubtlessly be coming to see him soon enough, Will had thought he was ready for that confrontation.

He had been wholly unprepared for the white-hot rage that bubbled under his chest the instant the man walked through the door. The anxiety and guilt he’d been wracked with for days vanished immediately at the sight of Hannibal Lecter, alive and well, cool and collected and _smug as ever._

Well, not entirely as smug. It was clear even under the civil mask that something had Hannibal rattled, and it’s that more than anything else that has Will distracted now, wondering what could possibly get under the man’s skin the way an attempt on his life _hadn’t._ Because Will knows Hannibal isn’t bothered that he tried to have him killed—he’s _proud_ of him for it.

He hardly remembers a word of their exchange. It’s all hand gestures, flashes of irritation at Will’s rudeness there on the man’s face and quickly gone, that barely-there smirk. The _look_ in his eyes when Will had finally had enough and demanded to know what the hell Hannibal wanted from him.

He had never seen anything like it. A gaping maw of possession, yearning, and covetousness in those dark pupils that had shaken Will to the core and left him breathless. He shivers every time he thinks of it.

“If you’re cold,” says a voice to his right, making him startle, “I can pass my blanket through the bars and let you borrow it a little while.”

Will turns his head and sees Brown standing there in his own cell, watching him. “I have my own,” he says to the man’s shoulder. “And I’m not cold.”

“I know,” says Brown. Will looks up, fleetingly, gaze landing on Matthew’s chin. Brown just stands there and stares back at him, face blank. Not carefully blank the way Hannibal’s always is, hiding his true nature under a mask of placid indifference. Brown’s look is one of curiosity and interest, just quietly observing. He does it all the time and it’s _fucking creepy._ Will hates the way Brown doesn’t even bother to hide it, doesn’t politely avert his gaze when Will catches him at it like most would. The man’s eyes constantly strip him bare, endlessly fascinated and overly attentive. He gets enough of that from Chilton, thanks. _And from Lecter._

“Forget him,” says Matthew, and Will realizes he hates this man’s stares more than most because Matthew actually _sees._ Will also recognizes that beneath the tone of genuine concern and well-meaning, Brown’s statement is unequivocally a command.

Will puts a hand over his eyes and laughs, sitting down on the cot behind him. “If it were that easy,” he says, dropping the hand and looking over at Matthew again with a wry smile.

Matthew grins hugely back, delighted to be the cause of Will’s mirth, no matter how broken and bitter it is. His heart skips a beat when Will’s smile widens unconsciously at the sight of it, becomes a touch more genuine for just a second before falling away completely.

“What is it about that guy?” he asks sullenly, irritated by Will’s retreat back into his own mind. If he can’t keep Will’s thoughts from straying away from him completely, he can at least insinuate himself back into them by making Will talk to him about the very thing that has his attention so divided. Maybe he can even learn something that will help him tip the scales, shift the man’s focus onto him more often and more permanently. Matthew thrives on Will’s attention, his words, his haunting little smiles.

He wants it all to himself.

“Lecter?” Will asks. Maybe the fact that the man is a psychopath who murders and _eats_ people, for one. No, he can’t say that to Brown. Much as he would rather end this farce now and go back to his daydreams of fishing with Abigail, he knows he may still need Matthew later. He has to keep playing into this fantasy the other has constructed of him.

“It’s…complicated,” he says. “He betrayed me. He _lied_ to me.” The venom in his own voice catches him off-guard. If he’s completely honest with himself, it may be this that’s been bothering him more than anything else he’s learned about the man before or since.

“I’m sorry I didn’t succeed in killing him,” says Matthew. “I guess I should have been faster, but I wanted to drag it out. Make him hurt and suffer in penitence for you.”

Will cannot begin to explain what that statement does to him. A rush of conflicting emotions clamor to the surface and battle for dominance over him. He doesn’t trust himself to speak at first, is afraid of what might come out if he does.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he finally croaks out with a shaky smile, “Don’t beat yourself up over it too much.”

Matthew’s grin returns and Will has to look away, unable to bear looking at it for too long, unwilling to find out what he’ll see if he does.

Brown steps closer to the bars and wraps his hand around one of them. “Hey Will,” he says when Graham continues to stare at his own shoes.

He waits until Will ever so slowly looks back up at him, steels himself enough to make and sustain eye contact.

Matthew lets every ounce of his sincerity and open affection bleed through as he says, “I will _never_ lie to you.”

Will’s eyes widen. His pupils dilate. He hears blood rush to his ears, feels his breath catch in his throat. He tears his gaze away to look back at his shoes again.

He has no idea how to respond except to softly whisper, _“Thank you.”_

“Matt,” says Matthew, grin broadening.

Will’s eyes flicker upwards again. “Thank you, Matt.” He turns away, tired of talking, and Matthew allows it, doesn’t press him.

He knows if he looks back, the man will still be staring at him, still grinning, something dangerous lurking in his eyes. Something _possessive, yearning, and covetous._ Will shivers again. He doesn’t look.

*

That night, Will has his first nightmare in weeks.

He’s running through the woods, his lungs burning. There is not a single star in the sky. He knows if he pauses to look around, stops for even a second to catch his breath, the Stagman will come for him. He has to reach the river. He’ll be safe if he can just get there.

He sees something out of the corner of his eye, a flash of white antlers against the pitiless black sky. He runs faster.

He hears something new overhead, over the rustling of grass and brush beneath his feet, over the thudding of his own heart. The beating of wings. Odd, in this quiet night of endless dark. There is no other wildlife here.

Another sound joins them as he continues forward, the rush of water ahead getting steadily louder as he moves. _Thank god._ He’s almost there. He’s almost there.

Something charges suddenly out of the trees, knocking him to the ground. It looms over him and presses him into the dirt, holding him there, its spiraling horns glinting despite the lack of light.

The beating wings get closer as well, stop and land just out of sight next to his head. He can’t even scream. He’s forgotten how.

A sharp beak darts into his eyes, pecking them out, just as the antlers lean downward and pierce through his chest.

He wakes with a gasp, sweating and shaking, for a moment unsure where he is.

_“Will,”_ the darkness whispers to him from across the hall. _“Will, are you okay?”_

Will ignores it. His brain is still fogged with exhaustion and fear as he unceremoniously tugs at the zipper on his jumpsuit, yanking it down from around his torso, letting the excess material fall and pool around his waist so only his legs and groin are still covered.

He peels off the sticky white undershirt next and flings it away from him, much as he would have done at home. He doesn’t think about it or anything else as he lets himself drop back onto the bed, grabbing for the thin scratchy blanket and pulling it up to his chin, drained enough that he’s able to drift back off before the shaking fully subsides.

Matthew is still and quiet, sitting up in the same position he’s been in since lights-out more than two hours ago, wide awake and perfectly content to watch Will thrash about in his sleep in the dim lighting until his own rest tries to claim him. He’s more of a night person than the rest of the ward.

Cautiously he gets up, careful not to let the bed squeak, and shuffles to the edge of his cell, craning his head to get a peek through the bars at the night guard standing at the end of the hall. The man hasn’t bothered to look over once, far more interested in some muted game on a phone he shouldn’t even have outside of the locker room.

Matt slowly kneels down to the floor, and after looking over one last time to make sure the guard is still not paying attention, he stretches his arm out as far as it will go, until his fingertips brush the discarded shirt Will managed to toss out through the bars of his cell without meaning to, the guard down the hall too incompetent even to _notice._

He drags it in quickly and takes it back to his cot. His fingers twist tightly into the slightly damp fabric as he brings it up to his face, greedily sucking in deep breaths of Will’s nightmares.

He gently folds it afterwards and tucks it under his pillow. Eventually he falls asleep, wishing he could slip into the other man’s dreams, imagining what sort of wondrous shadowy things he would find hunting Will in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Dear sweet lord, what have I done?_  
>  Yep, this is an ongoing series now. I hope you enjoy it! :)


End file.
